


October challenge

by IgureGekko



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Horror, Brain Damage, Cannibalism, Collateral Damage, Empurata, Enemies to Friends, Energon (Transformers), False Identity, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Introspection, Lobotomy, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Horror, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Medication, Mentions of corpses, Neglect, No Dialogue, Outer Space, Panic, Paranoia, Past Character Death, Possible Spoilers, Pre-Slash, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, References to Depression, Restraints, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Shock, Street Racing, Subversive work, Teeth, Unreliable Narrator, anger management issues, autocannibalism, for end of IDW, ignoring health issues, mentions of relationship, no beta we die like men, rarepairs, self-maintenance, shadowplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-09 02:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgureGekko/pseuds/IgureGekko
Summary: A collection of mostly unrelated fics/one-shots by a darker prompt list, that fails being so on day 1. Can you guess the prompts? Wildly inaccurate summaries.





	1. Day 1:Prowl

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hhhhh be kind. Also inform me if I need more tags, I'll tag more when I put more in. Considered going one fic one shot, and making a collection but nahh.  
Day 1: Prowl thinks its OK to punch someone when they tell him too many jokes.  
Verse: G1 with hint of IDW  
Characters: Prowl, Mentioned Jazz, Sky(warp)  
Warnings: No dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hhhhh be kind. Also inform me if I need more tags, I'll tag more when I put more in. Considered going one fic one shot, and making a collection but nahh.  
Day 1: Prowl thinks its OK to punch someone when they tell him too many jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1 with hint of IDW  
Characters: Prowl, Mentioned Jazz, Sky(warp)  
Warnings: No dialogue

Prowl did smile, no matter the rampant rumors on the Ark said. It was also an exaggeration, he did do those polite little faux smiles, even thought people always made big deals of them. He tapped the screen of the datapad, wondering why this irked him, now of all times.

Ah, yes. Jazz had tried to make him laugh, telling jokes, but Prowl had seen him falter just a few ones in. The saboteur was rather insistent, but not as relentless as needed to make Prowl lose his hold on his rigid control over his reactions. Being the only one not the laugh had started those rather inaccurate saying all over again, and now Prowl could gather that he was actually rather irritated with the fact.

Not being very emotive was not anyone else's business but his, and it did not limit him in any way. Actually showing his emotions did. Doubt of his professionalism hurt in itself enough, but the worried looks made it all the worse. Prowl had to force himself to relax, he closed his optics and pushed his palms onto the tabletop, it was a good way to stop the inevitable tremors. After he had gathered his bearings, he continued his work.

There was a light in this all. His other half. In the beginning, he would have said he was the better of the two, and after a while, that the other was. Now he knew they were equals, no matter how different they were. But oh, how his dear Sky made him laug! He had made it a challenge, relentless to the point of getting obnoxious and even past that, but he tried so many different types of jokes and types of humor, and found just made Prowl lose all control.

And Sky had been delighted, not worried for him at Prowl's laughter. He never did shy from his smiles, or tell him he needed to tone it down, or that the things weren't really that funny. Or that he needed to emote more, to simply know his own emotions perfectly. He did not, even though it seemed he did, it was only the product of eons of self-control that masked his reactions and the lack of them. It was simply how he was made, the perfect enforcer, impassive and impartial.

Sky had taught him to smile ad laugh again, to express himself better, but now this cursed war had regressed him rather badly, he had been professional, and precise to make sure everything went smoothly, to lessen the casualties, and then made officer, so he had to show a good example. And who would follow a lesser second in command? Jazz had a pass, since he was Spec Ops, and everybody know they had rather good abilities in acting one way and feeling the other. That silliness did not lessen their abilities.

When this all was over, he would launch himself to his Sky, and laugh and laugh, even if everybody else would think him insane, glitched or brainwashed. Prowl felt his vocalizer shudder a bit, one of the only tells he had that showed he found something funny. It would be worth it, even if by their eyes his behavior would have wildly changed on the drop. It seemed the Spec Ops didn't know everything, no matter what Jazz insinuated.

A whoosh of an opening door, and Prowl started a bit, and looked to the door, only to see someone leaving. How odd, why would someone come to see him, only to leave before saying - oh. He was smiling. Of course they would flee the scene as fast as possible, if the second in command of the whole army was smiling manically in his office. They probably thought he was going to murder them. Or that he was unhinged. Well, this would be rather easy to sweep under a rug, nobody would believe them, or if worst came to be, he could justify it somehow.  
This was just the reason he didn't smile much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was
> 
> Manic Smile.


	2. Day 2: Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has wrapped up a nice package, do not touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Ratchet, Optimus  
Verse: G1  
Warnings: Restraints, mild cursing, bad medical practice because crack-humor?

"You know, I _did_ warn you. Multiple times." Ratchet casually spoke up, not lifting his optics from his work of cleaning up his tools.

"I don't even know- how- **why** do you have something like _this_? And at hand?" Disbelief seeped from the voice, and Ratchet thrummed his engine in amusement. He acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, like he hadn't committed something that surely had to be against some sort of medics code.

"I have taught med students." Ratchet said like it explained anything about this situation. The medic finally put down his equipment, keeping a hand on the table, and turned to look at his patient.

"As you see, it is rather efficient in keeping wandering hand at bay."

"Isn't that a bit too much? Especially to students?" The larger mech on the berth was now a bit worried, and wiggled, even thought he had already established that it was rather useless in this situation.

This time Ratchet snorted, and then grimaced.

"You haven't experienced those Pit-spawn." The mainly white bot walked next to the berth, and sat down on a stool. His stare was rather uncomfortable, and his companion resisted the urge to squirm.

"So, Optimus, have you learned your lesson?"

Optimus sighed, and nodded. He felt a bit ashamed of himself, surely he had better self-control than this? Yet, here he was, at the medics mercy. The Prime had been expecting a wrench and a stern talking to mixed with cursing, not this.

"I shall be more mindful of new welds and patches, stop poking open wounds and listen to the doctors orders to stop working and rest." The truck listed, and Ratchet nodded, a slight smile on his face.

"Good, it wasn't _that_ hard, was it?" The CMO sounded rather patronising, but Prime did not want to start anything with that. Still, he was curious enough to ask the burning question that was on his mind.

"So why straitjackets?"

A rather devilish smile of that sweet payback spread on Ratchets lips, and his optics lit up in an unholy glee.

_"Those fuckers didn't respect the sterile field”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Straitjacket!
> 
> Congrats if you guessed it!


	3. Day 3: Knock Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse how Knock Out keeps himself in tip-top condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Prime, post-war  
Characters: Knock Out, non-named others  
Warnings: Descriptions of robot innards, body horror, robogore? medical horror?

He was not sure with made it worse, the bright lighting that hid absolutely nothing, or the fact that there were not a drop of energon, even though in similar sites as the one before them had been bathed in the lifeblood of their kind.

Vicious claws were deep in the delicate, fragile internals, wires splayed out in the open, the dull black protective casings highlighting the ones without. Metal glistening with oil, nothing marring the mirror clear, perfect surface of parts not meant to be seen outside of grievous wounds.

No, he was sure the worst of it was how methodical this all was. He could see them, legs reduced to every individual part, organised so clearly you could comprehend them as legs. Struts, joints, wires, and energon lines still pumping fluid in them, just laying there, outside the body. Wires parted, straightened, and in neat lines, separate. Little caps in connectors, and the gleaming red plating waiting on the outer perimeter, lined form top to bottom.

Everything was so clean, meticulous care put into this horrible travesty. Little boxes filled the gaps between the parts, one held corresponding new parts, the other holding the used remains clearly deposited to. Corroded wires, snapped ones, frayed ones. Larger tray slightly out of the way, displaying all the debris which sneaked inside ones frame. Little shavings of metal, specs of rust and bits of insular coating littered the below, small enough it would be futile to clean them up.

Long, sharp, deadly claws had been carding through the wiring, gently teasing the tangles out and straightening them, picking the damaged ones, holding them separate, and with an elegant twist of a hand, disconnecting them. The red optics lifted up from the gruesome display, and stared deep into them, hand idly disposing the offending wires, and started to twist connectors, opening up the plating, and deft hands slid in, and begin to crack them open.

A gurgle sounded out behind him, followed by rapid steps. Morbid fascination kept him riveted on the scene, as Knock Out smiled, a strange, yet somehow melancholic light in his optics. They came here to see what was going on, because the ex-con had not answered his coms. And now, he was in pieces, in his room, where he was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be happy, the war was over, so why had he done this to himself? He could feel frantic coms zapping behind him, he was sure someone was saying something, but all he could hear was a buzzing.

He could feel his own energon pulsing in his lines, rushing to everywhere to provide fuel, to keep him moving. He became aware of his struts, holding him up, his wires, his everything which made him him. holding everything in one piece. It felt like he could fall into pieces in any moment, everything so so fragile, held in specific places he had no hope putting back together by himself. His vents whirred as his vision tilted, and he lurched forward, curling his torso and his hands pressed tight against his torso. This plating shrunk, leaving no room for anything to pry in.

He felt the worried fields of everyone around, it was not helping his dizziness, when suddenly something thwacked onto his face and obscured his vision. Startled, he plucked it off, and made a quizzical whir. It was a rather blackened cloth, clearly used to clean tools.

”Oh good, you're here with us again. So, would you now kindly explain why you have oh-so-rudely barged in my room, when I specifically informed you I would not be disturbed?” Knock Out sounded put out, and not at all like he was in pain, or that something was amiss. Clumsy explanations of coms not answered, that being a long while ago and other reasons filled the air, and the red medic looked bit amused at the slightly queasy looks on their faces. Knock out had asked for some time to perform his own, thorough maintenance, and they had though it would mean washing, waxing and polishing to meticulous degree, not this.

They closed the door, comming Ratchet back that it was a false alarm, sharing a look. They would never again disturb Knock Out when he did this. A slow humming started up again in the room behind them, and know they knew what the quiet clinks of metal was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt was body horror.
> 
> welp


	4. Day 4: Shockwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave tries to science himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: IDW, pre-war  
Characters: Shockwave  
Warnings: Empurata, Shadowplay, mentions of mad scienting, mentions of corpses, brain damage.  
Notes: No dialogue in this either

Shockwave stared at the results. He had re-taken them multiple times, at different intervals, just to make sure of their validity. Yet, the results came back showing a negative trend. The factor of error was not enough to invalidate anything, so he had to accept this as a fact. He would need to further elucidate this matter.

Steady hands plugged in a diagnostic cord, and let the program run itself. It would take approximately 16 klicks to finish, but he would need to repeat it in case of errors. He would need to do a de-frag, to make sure it wasn't a variable. A small ping alerted him that the results were in. Shockwave reviewed them, fully aware these were not yet verified.

Xxx 

This was rather problematic. He had done all the tests he could, and the final conclusion has that his processor indeed showed signs of deterioration. The cause was deduced to be based upon already existing damage. It had spread, corroded the connections between sections, misfiring synapses causing difficulties in correctly comprehending data. Coding was a mess with pieces missing, and in wrong places, trying to patch the gaping hole.

His internal HUD showed slight increase in the temperature of the frame, difference in the oscillation of his spark. That actually engaged his pain receptors, they were rather sensitive in his spark-casing. Shockwave allowed his fans to run 0.5% higher, and flared the plating slightly to make cooling of the frame more efficient. At least his pain receptors still worked as they were meant to.

Now, he would have to come up with a method of stopping further degradation, and if possible, fix what he could. The problem was, he would need help, since this would no doubt require surgery, and doing processor surgery to himself would be nigh impossible, when considering his current situation.

And he could not be 100% certain he was even reading this data correctly. The parts responsive for cognition seemingly had slight errors, as were the ones pertaining decision-making. Shockwave painstakingly scrolled up to the relevant entries, and was at a loss. Who could he even turn to? What was the most logical route when confronted with the fact that he could not truly trust himself? That he could make this all so much more worse, not even noticing it.

He could do something with devastating consequences, not ever stopping to think if there were other solutions, working on insufficient and possibly incorrect data. But who would help him? Hospitals were duty-bound to repair the citizens, yet he was separated from that group. Not to mention, this damage was sanctioned by the Senate, and not many hospitals allowed Empurata entry into buildings. He had higher standing than many, but that was the result of not enough time to have passed. The people were not used to seeing a senator in such condition, and sometimes they could not even connect the Empurata to the all but ex-senator.

There were talks of an insurgent down in Kaon, talking about rights of Empuratas, promising them hands and heads back. Perhaps that could be an answer, yet the resources of a gentile group would be rather low, and not necessarily focused on processor damage. 

His spark released a pulse, blanking his vision as the cortex temporarily shut in answer to the pulse of pain. Shockwave slowly waited it up, optic booting up and showing slightly fizzed image before him. He had had some time to adjust to the changes, yet this was highly inconvenient. He still made sure to ponder at least one more option other that heading to Kaon, offering his expertise in exchange of assistance.

He had someone here in Iacon, who could help. Who had tried to find him after everything, trying to reach the bot he had been. Orion had some strings he could pull. But. Shockwave was not sure. He did not have enough data, and he did not have anything to offer that Orion would accept. And he was not going to rely in sentimentality, he could not. It was not quantifiable, and even though he still had memories of their time together, he could no longer interpret the emotions, or the significance of certain gestures.

His tattered spark pulsed, as he lifted his gaze up, to the bodies hanging from the ceiling, their bodies used for furthering his knowledge, for science. What would Orion think of all this?

Shockwave could not say, and he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Todays prompt was Lobotomy. 
> 
> And shadowplay seems so much like it, I went there.


	5. Day 5: Arcee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcee lurks around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: IDW, I know the large picture of what has happened with the end, so inaccuracies here! Sorta ending ish in timeline.  
Characters: Arcee  
Warnings: Not really dialogue, fuckery of canon most likely, possible spoilers??? IDK, haven't read the comics to their end.

”_Will you teach us again, mentor Arcee?”_

Long after the lesson, she was still in the training room, sitting high up, tapping her fingers against the pommels of her sword. Mentor Arcee. She tried the words in her head, she had never thought she would hear her addressed as such. Let alone allowed in contact with new-builds.

Arcee leaned against the wall, and listened to the sounds around. Behind the buzzing and humming of Trypticon, she could faintly hear carefree noises of young ones. It was rather spark-warming, even to one like her. She had resisted this job as much as she could, yet now she did not really mind this. Teaching newlings how to control their own bodies, simple training exercises. Nothing to do with war.

Once upon a time, she would have been disgusted by such weakness, rebelling against the belief that simply because she was a femme, she would somehow be better at corralling new-builds. Especially here on Earth, where the women of the planed were under such misogyny, she would have loathed to be painted by that brush. She was a warrior, to the core.

Her pink plating matched her spark on that matter. The newlings did not know the significance of the colour, they thought it was pretty, and their perception was colored by their contact with the human species. To them, the colour made her look girly.

Her lips, painted pink, stretched. To others, she was a brightly colored warning sign. It was like her otherwise white frame was forever stained with energon, so deeply it would not wash off. Arcee was painted like the approaching Death, indifferent and inevitable.

Perhaps she would someday have a sparkling of her own, either by siring them or by adoption. But that day would be eons from now, the assassin had her hands full with her current assignment. It was refreshing, to do something good, not even slightly related to warfare. To rest. To be almost civilian. Arcee could let her edges dull at least by minute degree. She would never be fully rid of her sharpness, the life she had lived had seen to that.

The setting sun painted the floor and room with warm orange hues, reaching even her, and even changing her colours. It was rather beautiful, in its own, alien way.

”_You're not even close to the level I'd be satisfied with, no way I'm going to leave you with half-aft training!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reject your prompt and substitute my own!
> 
> Death like Crimson.
> 
> Here meaning Death like Pink, thank to Arcee.


	6. Day 6: Swerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swerve doesn't feel that good, just let him catch up on his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: IDW, sorta divergent just before Swearth.  
Characters: Swerve, Tailgate, mentioned Brainstorm  
Warnings: Ignoring health problems, self-harm by neglect of health, insomnia, self-hatred and self-confidence issues. Disjointed text, unreliable narrator.
> 
> Longest fic yet.

It was weird, wasn't it? How almost no-one used the holoforms Brainstorm designed more. They were just so convenient, Swerve could work at his bar straight from berth! Or layer it over himself, to give himself a polish with none the work. He could multitask, bartender and watch sitcoms, all by himself. If he was a bit absentminded, it didn't matter! People stopped caring after they got their drinks, and fled _the Swerve Experience(™)_ as soon as possible.

Holoforms also got nixed a lot off the negative stuff he was handling right now, sensations were rather dulled, and unreal-feeling, so he did not feel the usual pain. That was positive, _right_? His visor would not be dull and sparking all the time, his hands would not tremble so much pouring drinks became impossibility. And how did he hear them called? Yeah, he didn't see any memory ghosts or images or whatevers either.

Swerve could just lie there and try to sleep. Desperately try. Occasionally he entertained the thought of contacting a medic or perhaps Rung, but then the queasy feeling of guilt would surface and he didn't want to be more of a burden. Like no one else didn't have problems trying to sleep! The Lost Light was full of war-veterans, they all had their fair share of demons. Tailgate had some too, but not really war related.

Only thing about the holoforms that was inconvenient was that they did not really go far enough. He couldn't go on any quests, and he rather liked those. The mini-bot felt like he belonged with the crew on those. And they happened at least once a week, so he was missing many occasions to socialise. He missed talking. Tailgate usually listened to him, to a point at least. He had kept a running commentary on for a while, often forgetting what he had been going on about, and just forged ahead. The silence was not nice. He would hear the whining of mistreated internals, and felt the cogs start to misalign.

Oh _Primus_ he was so _tired_. The patches he had from before did not work, not anymore, and the situation was so so bad. Sometimes he forgot really essential stuff, or his words didn't work anymore, not even by holoform. He didn't feel rested, even though he spent his days lying on berth. But he couldn't make himself rise and get help. He was so tired, and this certain numbness had spread over his mind and extremities like a blanket. It was as comforting as it was terrifying.

Besides, no one had noticed he simply _wasn't really there_. Swerve really didn't want to feel this ignored, this lonely, this pathetic, yet here he was. Wallowing in self-pity. He had cried and cried, and had made a rather good impression of panic-legs aka Tailgate over the time, so at least he didn't do that anymore. That would require he did something. Like, sleep. He hadn't really refueled in a while either, but oh Primus he would give anything to be able to sleep.

Time was his greatest nightmare, seeing the chronometer tic so slowly, eating his time he could have slept, never stopping. It had been way too long he had had a decent nights sleep, his troubles sleeping dating way back. Now he would welcome even that, anything really. Why hadn't he actually gotten help for this way sooner? Swerve cursed himself for his stupidity, opening his mouth even though no noise came out.

His chronometer could not be right, surely? It couldn't have been some 4 months since he had slept at all? It felt longer and shorter that that at the same time, his recollections of that period was rather spotty and disjointed. He laughed at his own joke, polishing a glass, smiling to his loyal customers. He pleaded to every deity he had ever known that he could sleep, he didn't care if he never woke up, he was just so tired.

A busy day at Swerve's was always nice, seeing his fellow mini-bots, and tell new jokes to all. Bartending really was his passion, and even though the ”scandal” of his diluted drinks, the place was usually sorta full. The bartender puffed his plating a bit in pride of his own handiwork, he got this handled for sure!

In his hab, Swerve would have wept if he had any energy left. The fantasy of everything being alright was so alluring, why wasn't he signaling for help? He was not OK, he needed somebody, anybody!

”Wow Swerve, what did you name that one?” Tailgate asked, sipping a tall, luminescent white glass of engex, which had rather sweet yellow candy floating at the top. Swerve smiled, placing the now clean glass at the non slip mat he had.

”Well, its a work in progress, but I've been calling it _Pushing Daisies _after a show, since I've been binging on ROM- and sit-coms. Its rather clever too, since daisies are this white Earth flora, sorta delicate like you, Tails, and they have yellow centers, hence the candy! And you see, the premise of the show is-”

Swerve just off-lined his visor, maybe if he just let go, and let his awareness be engulfed in this avatars reality, he would finally rest. That reality was preferable to this, people seemed to like fake him more than real him, anyways. It was weird, wasn't it? People sure needed to use their holoforms more, they were so convenient. He had to give Brainstorm a pint for his genius, when his ban ended, provided he did not have any briefcases with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was Insomnia.


	7. Day 7: Knock Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second opinion Knock Out would loathe to be different than he wants it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Prime, post war. Same universe as the other Knock Out fic!  
Characters; Knock Out, Ratchet, mentioned Breakdown  
Warnings: Eye removal mentioned, bullshit medical procedures, made up medical talk, past character death

Knock out had rolled his chair back to the work desk, idly leaning his elbows upon it. The sharp tips of his claws made a rather pleasant sound, as he tapped them rhythmically against his faceplate. On the other servo, he held an optic. As a medic, he had to temporarily disconnect the optic from its socket, as the patient had _somehow_ gotten debris behind their optic. Not to mention, scan revealed they had a shrapnel lodged behind the surface level of it. The damage was luckily completely recoverable.

The red speedster hummed, and tilted the optic, looking how the light reflected from its golden yellow coloration. On his HUD, he queued Ratchet's number, and let it try to connect. He had to wait a while, no surprise there, but at least the other medic answered.

”_What is it?”_ Well, that was just so like the grumpy medic, straight to the point, no pleasantries.

”Well, I have found myself in a need of second opinion.” Knock Out purred, spinning his chair around, so he no longer faced the desk. During the silence that overtook the conversation, he leaned back, his arms on the desk behind him, and his servos hanging freely over the edge.

”_... I'm hanging up.”_ the other said bluntly, but Knock Out just sent his amusement through the connection.

”Well, it isn't strictly a medical thing, so you needn't worry.” Knock Out ignored the harrumph at his grammar, and the insinuation Ratchet would be worried.

”It's more of an ethical, or, hmm, moral? Thing I need an opinion about.” The racer said rather nonchalantly. He could feel Ratchet's apprehension.

”_It is not like to admit you have any faults at all.”_ Ratchet sounded rather suspicious, and the sub-glyph's he used leaned to accusatory direction. Which,_ granted_, he had been a Decepticon. Knock Out made a neutral sub-vocal noise and decided to not prolong this much further.

”The thing is, due to optical trauma, I had to disconnect an optic”, here he wired the diagnostics to Ratchet, partly to prove he was not lying, and partly because the Autobot was dastardly curious.

”_I don't see any moral problems with that. So spill it.”_ Came the rather gruff demand, and Knock Out scoffed.

”Now now, I was just getting to it! Is it permissible to your _delicate_ autobot _sensibilities_ to give the patient a brand new optic, so I can keep this one? They wouldn't even notice the difference, really.” Knock Out was assured of his skills as a medic, and even Ratchet had rather grudgingly admitted he was talented. He could back his claim, _easily_.

”_...Why would you want an optic?”_ Ratchet asked after a slight pause, disconcerted.

”It is a rather unusual type of one, the combination of the apertures, focal lengths and the angle of incidence, that and its slightly screwed refraction quality make it one I've been desperately seeking. Not to mention, it also has the correct mounting. But a different optic would cause next to none alterations to vision to the patient.”

”_You really have been thinking this through, haven't you. Huh. Well, usually you don't do something like that, since mechs don't usually take others body parts, but you can just clear it up with the patient. And __**no lying**__! You can mention the slight flaw in the mechanism, but don't overplay it.”_ Ratchet seemed to have a nice day, or maybe he supposed it was a small enough think that didn't require a stern talking about the Autobot Code.

”_Well, If you didn't have anything else, I'm going.”_ Came the closing remark of Ratchet's, and Knock Out cleared the number of his viewscreen. Now that he had somewhat permission, the racer had some ruthless convincing to do. Wanting someone else's parts was viewed in negative light, so he had to play this one out so he didn't sully his reputation. And that he got the optic.

Knock Out thought fondly to his habsuite, and his meager belongings. This one was just the best one he had stumbled upon so far, but maybe he could find other that was even better. His spark squeezed inside his frame, and he pressed the optic as close to it as possible without opening his chest. After all, _Breakdown_ really did deserve a whole frame to be sent-off with. His partner had had rather specific type of eyes, shame he hadn't allowed Knock Out to replace his missing one when he was still alive.

Knock Out shuttered his optics a few times, cleared his field, and adopted his usual mannerisms. He had a goal now, and he would not back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today it was Collected eyes!


	8. Day 8: Skywarp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nervous of his boyfriends reaction, Skywarp shows teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1 pre-war, AU with IDW flavoring, same universe as day 1!  
Characters: Prowl, Skywarp  
Pairings: Prowl/Skywarp  
Warnings: Teeth, weird collectibles

_Oh scrap he had fragged up_. Skywarp's field was in knots over itself, and he had to sorta shuffle his weight around his pedes, to get rid of the nervous energy. But Prowl was so unlike how the seeker was, all still and standing with his doorwings held in strict angles. Maybe he would even be jailed ex post facto? Distress flared in his EMF, as his wonderful, _silent_ cop of a boyfriend stood there, giving no reactions, field held tight and neutral so it did not tell him anything.

”So!? Whatcha thinking 'bout this?” Skywarp blurted his nerves stretched to their limit. The grounder shuttered his optics, and turned his helm to look away from Skywarp's collection.

”You have certainly put effort into this. I have never seen you handwriting so clear.” Prowl gestured towards the small notes on the displays. Skywarp barked a laugh, his writing was still on the level of sparklings, but at least it was not smudged or anything. They both knew that it was his situation was the reason for that, and the seeker had been training it to better himself. Prowls field brushed against his, conveying the humor to Skywarp.

”Would you mind telling me what is the method of arranging you've used?” Prowl politely requested, and Skywarp's wings fluttered as he sidled closer, now excited to share his hobby.

”Okay, so on the front, on the fake golden pedestal are the most impressive ones, on the corner there by the shame curtains are the ones that could have been, and otherwise its by time, latest in front.” The teleporter explained, using his digits as he went over the points he had made this order with. He mouthed the points to himself, counting the digits and perked.

”The very first one is on the back and center. Its the one that actually started this collection of teeth!” One of Prowl's doors tilted, as he hmm-ed.

”What is the criteria of denta you collect?” So now was the final deal, that could break it or make it for his hobby. Skywarp took a deep vent, and brought his hands together in front of himself.

”To know that is to know the story of the first one.” He started, checking Prowl, and upon seeing him nod, continued. ”So once upon a time, I was in a bar-fight. And I punched the cog-sucker to his fugly face, so hard it hurt. I was completely blitzed tho, so yeah, I didn't exactly win. But on the morning, after I got myself out of the garbage disposal, I noticed I had something lodged in the seams of my servo.”

”_No_”, was Prowl's rebuttal, his little doors showing how displeased he was with jerky flicks. Absolute glee filled the air as Skywarp beamed.

”_**Yesss!**_” the teleporter dragged out the s, and his wings bobbed up and down. ”It was his denta! And it got me thinking, I didn't wanna forget about it, so I had to take a keepsake. But one tooth was sorta weird, and uh, next time I punched someones denta out and they were waving it in front of me, demanding reparation, I just yoinked it and got the pit outta dodge.” The purple seeker was practically vibrating by now, waiting for a reaction. Yet silence filled the air, and Skywarp blinked. And then put his arm on Prowl's shoulder comfortingly, in complete sympathy.

”You got stuck on how the denta got lodged in, didn'cha?” Warp gave Prowl a smile, he couldn't help it when his lover was being so adorable!

”Just, the angle alone to accomplish this is _ridiculous_, you know that? Not to mention the probability of it happening.” Prowl looked rather frustrated, some sort of helpless indignation teeking from his field. Skywarp leaned closer, and bumped his helm against Prowl's, taking care with the chevron. He sent his adoration to Prowl, and it soothed the thorny edges out of the others field.

”So, you wanna hear the stories behind the dents-of-fame?” He said with grin sporting on his face. Prowl sent a ping of tolerant exasperation to him, and nodded, still muttering his calculations under his breath. Skywarp's plating fluffed with pride, as he continued his commentary. He could feel Prowl's keen optics following him closely. Warmth filled him, and he looped his arm fully onto both of his beaus shoulders.

It was really nice to feel plating of another against his, and the pulsation of the magnetic forces of their fields. They intermingled, evening out both of them and easing the irregularities there. Skywarp basked in it, continuing his evening feeling much better than he had at the start. He had been worried for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was
> 
> Collected Teeth!


	9. Day 9: Cliffjumper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper has to take a time-out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Cliffjumper, lesser so, Prowl, Blaster, Huffer  
Warnings: Anger management issues

"_**You can't do this! Open the frelling door right now!**_" Cliffjumper howled, as he rushed the door, trying the force it open. His head was not good enough battering ram, and the door remained closed. The red minibot snarled, engine whining as he simmered with rage. The intercom crackled to life, slightly staticky.  
  
"_Cliffjumper, you are to remain in the personal safety room for at least two Earthen hours, or until you regain rational thinking. Do you understand?_" Came the bland voice of the Second-in-command, and Cliffjumper's engines gave a loud, intentional grinding sound, and he indulged in some good human sign language. He lifted both hands up, and spun around, trying to make sure the cameras that were there captured his middle-fingered salute.  
  
"_Very well, we will check on this matter in two hours time, the intercom panel is next to the door, you can contact us with it if there is a problem._" A click, and the slight hum of open channel disappeared. The minibot tried to ram the door again, failed, and screeched, servos tightening in anger. It didn't even hurt, so Cliffjumper bashed again, and again, and again, until he had to take a break.  
  
His systems were in red territory, and his cooling systems was in overdrive, plating desperately flared so he could cool his internals before something gave away. Someone was watching him, that was made clear by the drop in the ambient temperature in the room, assisting his systems. Cliffjumper made a wordless cry of rage, and flung the first thing he got his hands onto into the walls.  
  
The soft square made the dull thud of two soft things colliding, as it bounced slightly from the padded walls. It served to infuriate Cliffjumper more, and he saw red as he started pounding on the walls, his fists sinking in them. It was making a rather good impact sounds, and the red mini lost himself to it for a while, until he just felt that most of the almost berserk anger had bled out of him. He panted for a while, and plopped down on the soft flooring. He looked around, mind much more clear than before.  
  
Everything was padded, and it was lit not too brightly, and the floor had some shapes made of the same material as the surroundings. A ball, the square he threw, a cone and a few tubes of different lengths and widths. He tested a few of them on his hands, smacking them onto his open palm, and chose a longer one. Then Cliffjumper commenced smacking everything he could with it, giving the door special attention.  
  


* * *

  
  
"_Hey my man, you feelin' ready to come out now, or do ya need more time to chill?_" Came the rather cheery voice of Blaster, rather startling Cliffjumper, who was in the middle of an another break. The red mini looked upwards, thinking and searching his emotional state, and found himself rather calm. Of course, the clock on top of the door said he had actually been there for four hours now, and he only had faint recollection of somebody asking something he snarled in retaliation to.  
  
"Gimme an hour and then ask again. Just to make sure. Huffer's alright?" Cliffjumper asked, remembering what exactly gave him the sentence to the time-out room. The war was not really helping with his anger management, and there wasn't really time to do anything about it.  
  
"_Yeah he's cool, grumbling a bit but that's just how Huffer is. Right-O! You'll hear from me in an hour!_" Blaster quipped, and the communications ceased. Cliffjumper looked a bit around, not really feeling like bashing more stuff, or himself against anything, so he just flopped to the ground on his back, and offlined his optics.  
  
He would use this time to go through the situation that had lit up his infamous temper, and try to think about it in hindsight. And perhaps clear some programs that had been gotten rather strained between his anger and subsequent overheating. Cliffjumper took in the absolute stillness of the room, and slowly his field smoothed out, and he was beginning to feel completely like himself again.  
  
The time-out room was rather stupid and felt embarrassing, he wasn't a sparkling, yet he was glad for it. It really did help. And it didn't make any more work to their overworked medical team, and better yet, he didn't have to see the ugly faces of anyone, especially those twins, who would certainly be in the brig. Sure, he had to still do a punishment detail, but it was rather nice the commanding staff recognised the red mini couldn't really do anything to his berserker coding. Cliffjumper huffed, and let himself just be, almost drifting into recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was
> 
> Padded Cell
> 
> Do tell me if I have to tag more stuff!


	10. Day 10: Sideswipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe almost bleeds to death. Sunny to the resque.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker  
Warnings: Brotherly fights

Pain and alarm flooded their bond, and Sunstreaker snapped into attention. Something was wrong with Sideswipe, he had to get to his stupid twin, he refused to lose him on the base, and this dirtball of a planet. The yellow lambo shoved people out of his way and made room for himself to transform, and gunned it towards his brother. He went to the corners full speed, powersliding them with tires squealing. He nearly drove past the door his brother was behind, so Sunstreaker transformed back to root mode, landing almost in a crouch, fingertips trailing the ground for balance. He slid for a moment, sparks rising from the friction, and launched himself towards the door.

Sunstreaker wrenched the door open, battle protocols already on high, as he scanned the room for danger and his twin. And he stopped to stare. Wondering if this was what the black-and-white cop felt like just before crashing, he took in his brother, on his knees on the kitchen floor. Cradling one hand and wailing pathetically. Sideswipe turned to his brother, optics bright and arcing slightly, and held his hand towards the yellow twin.

”_S-Sunnyyyy_, I'm bleeding out!” Sideswipe sobbed, and Sunstreaker didn't even chastise him as he usually did, he just found himself walking to his brother, and crouch, and taking Sideswipe's hand to his own. He was stupefied. There it was, a cut on the back of his servo, and sad little nicks on the digits. They were slightly oozing energon, and looking around, he found a knife with minute amount of energon on it on the floor.

Saying absolutely nothing, he reached for his subspace, and took out a can of sealant. He sprayed Sideswipe's hand with it, and wiped some of the energon off with his thumb. Then he looked up to his still too light optics, and bonked the other on the head, scowling.

”W-what the hell Sunny?!” Sidewhipe demanded, now affronted as he shot up, now towering over the other. Sunstreaker followed suit, and revved his engine angrily.

”You glitch! _**I'm going to kill you**_.” Sunstreaker promised darkly, their twin bond flooded with his anger, relief and absolute murderous intent. The red Lamborgini just rasberried back, crossing his arms.

”You're the glitch here, if you kill me, then you'll just kill yourself.” He huffed, tilting his head arrogantly. Sunstreaker's optics paled, as he pounced onto his brother, tackling him to the ground with a cry of alarm coming from the red twin.

”Better that than to live with _you_!” Sunstreaker growled, as they started brawling there on the ground, both sending their gratitude through the link they shared. Sideswipe because Sunstreaker came to help him, when he had slight panicky situation going on, and Sunstreaker because Sidewsipe was all right. They both knew the combat system did not shut down easily, especially when it had been brought to such a state.

They both already knew they would be jailed again for their behaviour, but as warriors they were wired to fight, and that was what they did. The Autobots were mostly civilians, so they did not understand the coding that made them rather aggressive and high yield in energy. They had to release it somehow, so why not by fighting? They weren't really hurting each other, even though they both infuriated the other constantly. But it was alright, they were split-sparks after all, and they had each other, even though other might not understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was
> 
> Blood!


	11. Day 11: Red Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Alert has a crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1 or IDW, could be both, sorta?  
Characters: Red Alert, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Ratchet  
Warnings: Uh idk, Red Alert being Red Alert?

_'Hmm.'_ Pondered Red Alert, as he sat in his quarters, idly scrolling the security report he had made and submitted to high command. He had been the Security forces for a while now, even made to an Officer. He got to sit in meetings, and his voice was heard and taken seriously. Yet there was a gnawing inside his processor, it was not exactly guilt nor shame, but it still lingered. Some sort of unease, which made his fingers twitch.  
  
The longer he waited on this, the worse the consequences would be. The Prime was not one to execute his own men, yet he was in real danger of being discharged dishonorably from the army. Or the second and-or third in command would want to look into everything he had done, fearing him a spy. Yes, he needed to tell. But Red Alert was not exactly comfortable calling a meeting with the whole high command, he would be woefully outnumbered, and it would only take one hasty, trigger-happy mech to end his life.  
  
Prime needed to know, obviously. Even though the red-and-white mech was not completely sure of the Prime's motives. Prowl however, was rather logical, and even though there was high chance of being jailed, he could be reasoned with. He would be penalized, but it would be within the law. Jazz... was a wild card, he would be in the know, but not at the meeting, at least not physically. He could be informed discretely, yet that would only encourage him to dig out more information, and pester or perhaps even interrogate him of his methods of hiding such information. Ratchet would be needed to verify, and since it was in a way a medical matter.  
  
Red Alert let his vents slowly hiss out the air, and requested a meeting with Prime, Prowl and Ratchet.  
  
Xxx  
  
There they sat, in a smaller meeting room, few days later, since the schedules were rather messy and full at this point. At least they now had a brief reprieve, even if Red would most likely ruin that for the mechs before him.  
  
"So Tripwire, you asked for this meeting, and stressed of its importance. What is it?" The voice of the Prime was deep, rumbly yet kind. It could hide anything behind it. Red Alert took a deep breath, and rested his palms in his thigh plating.  
  
"It is a confession. I falsified my enlistment information. My designation is not Tripwire." He said with short to the point sentences. Red saw Prowl tense, clearly eager to put him on stasis cuffs, and sent to prison. Optimus Prime raised a hand to pause the moment, and looked to SO with what seemed compassion.  
  
"We have reasons why we would use false names." The Prime intoned, clasping his hands together, and leaning towards the him.  
"What is your designation then?"  
  
Red Alert tensed. Well, it had been going OK so far, so he gathered all the calm he could, and tried to get to the core of the problem.  
"Any designation I would tell you at this point would be a lie. I know it sound like I am a spy, but I have research to prove it is a medical condition." He hated how his glyphs were not as clear and precise as usual, but he was rather nervous. He could see that the Chief Medical Officer was intrigued, yet holding his glossa as his Prime commanded. The Prime in question gestured for him to continue.  
"I am glitched-" at this point, Ratchet sprang up, clearly fuming, and all three started to protest the statement. Red Alert turned the volume on his vocalizer up a notch.  
"It is a proven and legitimate processor glitch, Ratchet may take a look at it at later point. The point is, the glitch induces and heightens paranoia." He grimaced, they would most likely misinterpret him.  
"I do not trust you to know my name." He told them, quickly continuing. "It is not really because of you, it is because my processor reads you as threats." Oh that did not sound any better. Red Alert clenched his hands into fists, still keeping them on his lap, and his optics looking at the trio.  
  
"I am aware that it is not necessarily true, but the possibility is there. I have worked on it with a psychologist before the war, that is how I was able to enlist." Red Alert had to concentrate to not to start trembling.  
"I came to give ou this information now, as the threat assessment has lowered sufficiently.” And now he would wait.

Ratchet had a few false starts, ended up harrumphing and slumping back to his chair.

”We will need to schedule an examination at some point, provided it does not cause you harm.” He grumbled, and Prowl straightened.

”Yes, this is a rather unusual case, but provided some investigation, such a... condition as your should not be cause to discharge you.” The Second-in-Command sounded a bit unsure with his words, like he was floundering a bit. Red Alert kept his optics on the Prime. Who chuckled.

”Oh, and I was afraid it was something worse! We will take into consideration your limitations, of course, after we go through what you are able. But first!” Optimus Prime clapped his hands, startling Red Alert.

”What designation do you wish we call you by? Is Tripwire still alright?”

Red Alert felt the anxiety melt away, diffusing the energy gathered to his sensory horns, and he tried to sit even straighter.

”Sir, You may call me Alarm.” It was not his true designation, but it was closer. He would take little steps, with their support, and maybe someday they would call him Red Alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was
> 
> Paranoia


	12. Day 13: Sideswipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe got spaced out for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker  
Warnings: Space

It was, in a way beautiful, how the absolute silence and vastness of space made everything so sharp. His processor blanked for a bit, systems not equipped to handle such rapid, unexpected differences, and had to soft-boot. He should be hearing and feeling the rumble of the engines of the Ark, yet there was nothing. He spent a moment just staring dumbly, and then frantically tried to com the ship. Nothing. It was already so, so far away, and Sideswipe despaired. He focused inwards, and filled the link he shared with his other half with panic, fear and urgency, and hoped so hard the other would take notice, even though Sunny had ignored him for a while now, courtesy of a prank.

_'-----?' _Came faintly, strained yet still holding together, and Sideswipe began to feel the pull on his spark, the distance starting to overtax the bond. Dread seeped into the link, as realisation dawned, followed with grim determination. The red frontliner hoped dearly that Sunny would not to something stupid, like get into fight or jump out of the airlock. He curled the best he could, and took advantage of partial transformation to protect the less durable internals, and shut down some non-essential programs. He had to save some energy, as the space was a huge place, and even though they had Sunny with them, it would most likely take some time. Emergency beacon activated, he could only wait.

_'–wipe!------**SIDESWIPE!**'_ Sideswipe jolted, spark pulsing erratically, and he wildly looked around, not really seeing anything but halations, as his optics hadn't booted up properly yet. He started to answer, and stopped as he could not hear anything, not even his own voice. Oh right, in space. The link pulled at his attention sharply, and he immersed himself into it. He got flooded with relief, the undercurrent of worry still lingering, not dissipating even as he answered with a ping. Sideswipe tried the coms again, but it didn't connect. Warm affection curled around his spark, like a hug, and Sideswipe knew he would be alright.

Curiosity poked him, demanding answers, and Sideswipe sent back choked happiness. Questioned, he sent the feeling of helplessness, the fear of abandonment, of loosing Sunny. The relief, the hope, the happiness when he was heard, that he was going to be rescued. The respite of the utter silence. He got back mirrored feelings, their love to each other making it feel like they were together, melding into one.

He would get back to the ship, hug Sunny, endure the tender care of the ships medic and go to his room and try to sleep, preferably while holding his twin. And it would be a while until he would go anywhere near anything that led outside of the ship, so no wondering around and finding himself spaced out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was 
> 
> Spaced Out!
> 
> Yeah no chapter 12, I got nothing.


	13. Day 12*: Reng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rong takes down some misconceptions, schooling Swerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: IDW, MTMTE, Post Swearth  
Characters: Ring, Swerve  
Warnings: Talk of medication, depression

An orange mech was sitting on a comfy looking chair, looking at the red-and-white minibot sitting across him. The orange one adjusted his glasses, and gave a compassionate smile to the other.

”Swerve, I know it can feel frustrating, like you have not made any progress, but I have to remind you that is not true. You have made progress. Things like this just take time. There is no instant fix.” Rung explained, as Swerve clearly anxiously twisted his fingers, looking at the ground. ”Swerve? Would you please look at me?” the psychiatrist asked, and was rewarded with a quick glance, not that he expected the mini to sustain optic-contact. He needed to make sure Swerve was paying attention, the mini could get lost into his own head and anxieties. ”Thank you Swerve. Now there is few things we could try out, which could help with your recovery.” He said calmly, and Swerve snapped to attention.

”Why haven't we tried those already? I mean, isn't the thing to make me normal as soon as possible? You do have a lot of other patients I mean, like Nut-job, I think he takes a lot of your time and patience, not to mention your other regulars, my thing is not a biggie when compared to them!” Swerve jabbered away, giving a strained laugh. Rung waited patiently and then leaned forwards.

”First of all Swerve, my other are of no consequence right now. Second, there is _no_ comparing between troubles and problems with others, as they are subjective. It may not be the most striking issue there is on this ship, but it is a big deal to you, and that is all that matters. And lastly...” Here Rung paused for a while, and Swerve jumped in to fill the silence.

”So what's the last thing? That there is no hurry, normal is overrated, something of that sort?” He babbled, and Rung just shook his head, slightly amused.

”No Swerve, lastly, I do not appreciate you badmouthing my patients, or calling them names like 'Nut-job'.” The orange mech gently admonished the mini, who gave a quavery, sheepish smile, and nodded. ”I only brought up this now, since you were not a point I would recommend them. But I think you would benefit from emotional moderator chip.” Swerve made a small sound of alarm, wringing his hands in a harsh manner, damaging the paint on them. Rung frowned, and pushed the box of fidgets he had on the table in between them towards Swerve, not bringing attention to Swerve's bad habits, since that usually just made the mini sink further into himself.

”Now, you clearly have some worries about the subject, so let me make sure that this is a thing you don't have to do, you can get better without it, but it could be useful. And that you don't have to decide anything right now. We will just go through any questions you have, and pros and cons of everything, is that alright with you?” Rung emphasized upon Swerve, who nodded, opened his mouth a few times starting to say something yet shrank back. ”Why don't you start Swerve, do you have any questions, anything that worries you about the moderator chips?” Rung gestured for the mini to start, and after a few more wrings to his hands, Swerve scooted a bit forward. He took some sorta fiddly puzzle thingy, optics locked to it as he fumbled with it. Swerve audibly cleared his vocalizer out of static.

”S-so, chips huh? How do they work like? Do-do they change anything? Will it _make_ me happy? Will-will I still be _me_?” His voice wavered, occasionally clicking off altogether, as waves of anxiety and dread filled his unstable EM-field. Rung pulsed reassuringly back, placing a hand on top of Swerve's. They had established that this was ok, as it helped to anchor Swerve, so he did not spiral further downwards.

”It is a common misconception that Moderator chips would change who you are, and how you feel, but that is not true at all.” Rung clarified, as Swerve jumped in.

”_What good is it for then?!_” He burst out, almost recoiled, and then just curled slightly inward in shame.

”Moderator chips do not make emotions, they assist in regulating your existing ones. Currently, you are stuck in a negative feedback loop, and your emotional subroutines are reading that as high priority, which in turn affect your spark. As you processor fails to read positive emotions, your spark has started to interpret there is no positive emotions.” Rung expounded on the matter, all his attention on Swerve, who was now looking at him. He seemed a bit dazed, mouth stuck slightly open. ” The chips help here with helping your emotional cortex with its connection on the spark, essentially creating a work-around the loop. So the signal has two paths to take, which alleviates the strain on the subroutines. It can, however, also slightly dull happier emotions too, and cause some delays between feeling emotions and expressing them.” Rung lifted his hand off from Swerves, correcting his posture and keeping an open demeanor.

”I'll still be me? And it doesn't change other stuff, too?” Swerve asked meekly, plating clattering in his wound-up state.

”Of course you will be. This is a rather non-invasive chip, and it does not merge with anything else. It is easily removed, and the after-effects of removal are temporary and fully disappear, like they were never there. It is only there to assist your own processor in correcting the erroneous paths it has made.” Came the reassuring explanation, knowing that Swerve understood more medically inclined explanations, due to the training required in becoming a metallurgist. ”Anything more to ask?” He prompted the other, since the mini looked a bit uncertain still.

”Uh, yeah. Is it the only thing you recommend? I'm a bit iffy about moderator chips still.”Here Swerve chuckled humourlessly. ”Sorta feels like it could go really wrong, not that I doubt you or anything! Just, removable or not, foreign code inside me does not sound very-yeah. Not good, I mean. Sounds not good.” His tone was a bit pained, as was the smile he had on his face, and Swerve gestured to Rung. ”Why you'd recommend this to _me_ anyway?”

”It is understandable to be wary of foreign code and programs. There is nothing wrong with that.” Rung assured. ” I recommended this for you because it would benefit you along with continuing our sessions. The other thing I could recommend would be spark-pulsar sessions. They would give more energy to your spark, perking you up. Of course anything dealing with spark has its own risks.” The orange mech stated, before continuing. ”You do not have to decide anything right now, I would actually prefer if you did not. I will provide you with info-packets about the both of the methods I mentioned, and we can talk more the next time we meet here.” He said, as their appointment had come to a close. Swerve murmured something in an acknowledging tone, as he stood up an headed towards the door.

”Oh, and Swerve.” Rung piped up from his seat, and Swerve turned around, to look at him.

”Please do remember you have friends who care about _you_.” Rung said warmly, and saw how the mini shuffled a bit, clearly taken aback. Rung was graced with a small, shy but finally genuine smile, as Swerve gave his thanks, and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the 12 day was 
> 
> Medication
> 
> here on the 14th day yay.


	14. Day 14: Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz has a talk about Decepticon activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Jazz, Optimus, Prowl, Decepticons  
Warnings: Butchered accent

”So let us begin the debriefing, as you've gone through the extensive processor scan, that you demanded.” Optimus Prime began, exuding an aura of authority. He was sitting behind a large desk, the Second-in-Command idling right next to him. ”Do you believe you have been compromised?” He continued sternly. Jazz let out a gust of air.

”No sir, Ah don' think so, ta Cons were rather busy, doubt they noticed a thing.” The spy shrugged sheepish. ”There ain't much planning going on there, that's fo' sure, got only lil bit of Intel from consoles.” He let out a disheartened thrum, and gestured to the written report and data he had brought back. ”Ta mission was not a complete bust, but still a bummer. Nah, ta reason Ah asked Ratch for those scans were 'cause Ah did not wanna believe what Ah saw at ta Con base.” He continued, and the Prime looked intrigued, while the door-winger had started to skim through the report. The leader signaled him to continue.

”They were having a tournament. Of slip-n-slide.” Yep, it still sounded unbelievable, and Prowl scoffed, doors high on his back. ”Well yeah, Ah included pics, didn't think anyone would believe this otherwise. They had a long hallway all slick-like, an' most of ta Cons were covered in oil, Ah think.” he pointed at the pad that Prowl was holding, and Optimus leaned towards it, clearly curious. Jazz waited for a spell, for them to find any of the pictures he had taken. Prowls doors twitched, and Optimus returned to his previous position, optics bright with befuddlement.

”What would cause the enemy army to stoop to such behaviour? Are you certain that you were not somehow noticed, and this was a ploy?” Prowl questioned seriously, already calculating probabilities, and the possible outcomes. In contrast, the truck-former seemed almost gleeful.

”Jazz, do you know who won the tournament?” The Prime asked, and Jazz smiled deviously.

”Sorry to say Ah don't, sir. It sorta devolved after the big bad himself tried, fell on his aft, and got pushed by both Screamer an' Sounders.” The white-and-black mech chuckled, that had been so surprising, those two almost never cooperated. ”The head honcho spun on the way, and then it when from who gets furthest to who's silliest.” And oh boy, had that been absolutely bizarre sight.

”I am almost afraid to ask.” Prowl deadpanned. They both were riveted with the new information.

”Ah personally liked when Sounders slid on his side, one leg bent, all like those seductive 'Draw me like your French girls' pose, with a huge fake rose attached to his mask by a magnet or two.” Jazz bounced a bit on the tips of his pedes, feeling jittery. ”Ta surprisin' teamwork of Screamer and Hook was funny too. It looked like figure-skating, what with Hook lifted with one hand above Scream.” Jazz shifted his weight, he didn't really like standing still, at least after a long infiltration session, he was already stiff, and he had groused about these debriefings before.

”Huh. I would not have though they had something like this in them.” Optimus said, contemplating something, almost slipping into his own head. The SIC re-booted his vocalizer in order to attract attention.

”And Megatron sanctioned this? I know he tried to partake, but after that?” Prowl pressed, and Jazz just waved him off.

”Yeah, He just laughed n' stuff. But, more importantly, as it wasn't some sorta bizarre processor glitch or online de-frag, Ah gotta important question to yah, Prime.” The Spec-Ops mech said, clapping his hands together. Optimus made an inquiring sound, and Jazz grinned. ”Can we have one too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was
> 
> Hallucinations!


	15. Day 15: Grimlock, Starscream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two unlikely pals ponder things, fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1, AU-ish  
Characters: Grimlock, Starscream  
Warnings: Headcanon stuff-ish things  
(This is a part of longer fic I've been thinking about, so it might seem sorta strange.)

"Him Prime not so good leader. Him Megatron just bad." Grimlock grunted, and his company threw his hands to the air.  
  
"Thank you! You would think that others would notice, but _nooooo_. You are much smarter than those Autofools, you know that." Frustration was clear in their voice and magnetic field, and the Dinobot leader nodded.  
  
"Me Grimlock know. You Starscream, _stupid_." He said, pointedly looking at the seeker by his side.  
  
"_WHAT!? _HOW _**DARE**_ YOU!?" Starscream shrieked as he jumped up from his seat on the ground, wings hiked up in an aggressive display. Grimlock snorted from his seat, not getting up.  
  
"Him Starscream follow bad leader, him stupid." He explained like it was really that simple. The seeker sneered, folding his hands, no longer acting like he would attack at any moment. His wings were still up, making him seem even bigger.  
  
"Oh _really_? Like I wasn't going to overthrow that giant fool?" Starscream said with hostility dripping from his tone. The dinobot shook his head.  
  
"Him Starscream not able, him Megatron taught Him Starscream too good." Here the dinobots words came out of his vocalizer with great difficulty, however Starscream just squatted back down, red optics considering.  
  
"Hmm. So it is not a matter if strength? Can you try to explain it better?" The seeker asked. Grimlock gave a grunt, and took a moment to gather his words, as Starscream waited patiently.  
  
"You Starscream strong, so him Megatron afraid. Him Megatron make it so you Starscream can not win. Took him Megatron long long time, so you Starscream not notice." His speech was rather slow, words a bit hesitant and elongated, and Grimlock felt a spike of anger, he hated speaking with words, he preferred to talk with his fists.  
  
"That... does make a twisted kind of sense." Starscream acknowledged, and then drove his fist into the ground. "_DAMN HIM!_ He will** die**, mark my words! Grooming me, his own Second in Command, the Air-commander?!" He screeched, voice playing back a slightly painful noise. "He truly is worthless leader, to sabotage his own army so!" Starscream growled, opening his fist, and clawed the ground.  
  
"Them Decepticons now blind, them too used to how him Megatron say you Starscream are. Them Autobots no better." Grimlock said bitterly, glancing at the ground, and then lifting his head up, to the sky above them. "Them Autobots think us Dinobots stupid, them _wrong_! Words hard, us too big, but we Dinobots not stupid!" The dino reiterated, nearly keening in his distress.  
  
"They sure do preach understanding, but the moment they are confronted with something they don't like, suddenly it becomes alright to ostracize a group or two." The seeker huffed, disgusted at the hypocrisy. He finally let himself relax, and lowered himself back to the ground, now lying on his back. "You Dinobots are not even malfunctioning or glitching, you language centers are just underdeveloped, and your OS is different, so you aren't compatible with conventional data-downloading." Starscream flapped his hand back and forth, but Grimlock couldn't really tell whatever for.  
  
"Its like they never even tried other ways to give you the information you learned? Or _Pits_, try to teach you manually! Reading to you, showing you pictures, acting scenes with you?!" The seeker cried out, hiding his faceplate in his hands. They both stayed quiet for a moment, and Starscream lifted his hands. "For _Primus'_ sake, you are only few Earthen years old." Grimlock revved his engine in warning.  
  
"Us Dinobots **not** sparklings!" He snarled, and returned it with a scowl.  
  
"Of course you are not. The Autobots should be parted from their optics, it's not like they even use them." They both shared a commiserating look, until Grimlock shifted a bit, feeling restless.  
  
"Me Grimlock have to go soon. You Starscream up for fight before?" He asked, hopefully, and the seeker gave him a searching look. The dinobot kept his visor firmly trained on the other, and Starscream shrugged.  
  
"Why not? It is good for my ego to put you back to your place." He leered, and he indulged in in a leisure stretch, fluttering his wings. Grimlock's engine geared up, as he too stood up, starting to circle the flier.

”You Decepticon dream! Me Grimlock, King!” A ruthless smile spread on the seekers lips, as he made a show spreading his talons. They both were sizing each other up, as a few times before this, and a savage sort of glee encircled them, as they readied to maul one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was
> 
> No eyes


	16. Day 16: Sunstreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twin requires a trip to medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker  
Warnings: Major Character injury, shock

It was like a ringing had started to emanate from his spark. It felt powerful, like his parts should be rattling around by the force, yet nothing was moving. His systems were silent, and he was drowning in the sound of his own spark. His proximity sensors were down, and he had no idea where he was, and his frame felt rather distant, and he could not tell if he was sitting down or what, he had no sensory data to tell him.

He opened his mouth, and his vocalizer whirred to life, but he couldn't hear anything. His systems logged in a garbled message, yet he could not see anything. His optics were online, and working, however data storage's were unable to convert the signals into comprehensible data. Huh, it seemed like someone was saying something, as a meaningless noise accompanied the ringing, flowing through his helm.

He could not be sure it they were false sensations or not, something crawling all around him, jostling him? He jerked, pain! Pain, pain pain on his pede? Yes, it was his pede, and he was aware of it curling, to protect it from further damage. Oh, his mouth was still open, was it not? And his optics, too. Was he babbling, or did he say something? His systems seemed to register some sort of output, yet he had no clue what was going on. He could not remember anything he might have said. He was not even sure what was going on.

A harsh thud against something jolted him, as it caused pain to bloom all around his frame. He was pretty sure at this point someone was trying to move him, his limbs did not comply, resisting any attempts. His helm moved, optics tracking something, and the noise intensified. It was like spikes were being pushed into him, he tried to avoid the pain, but he could not escape. He was shifting, shifting away, feeling almost weightless for a moment, until even the slight data he could glean stopped.

* * *

A steady beeps and whirring welcomed his audios, and as he onlined his optics, he was met with blinding light. He groaned, and with great difficulty, lifted a golden arm to shade his optics. After a klik his optics adjusted, and he scanned his surroundings. The hideously orange everything told him he was at the Ark, and the machinery and berths and trolleys with tools told him he was at the med-bay. The dull ache that permeated his whole being meant he had gotten hurt, and rather badly at that. So it would not have been by his idiot of a twin.

Sunstreaker frowned, he had no recollection of how he had gotten to the Ark or how he even got hurt. But he was certain he had been online the whole time. Searching his databanks, he only got garbled data and nonsensical blurry images and thoughts. A warm hand was holding his own, and he concentrated on that. His systems felt like they were tingling, and even the small pressure of a hand seemed almost overwhelming.

His spark thrummed, and a corresponding spark-signal only just brushed back. His hand was jerked a bit, as the mech on the other end jolted awake. The red lamborghini quickly straightened up, like he hadn't fallen asleep, and looked around puzzlingly, wondering what it was that woke him up. Blue optics met, and spark pulsed in perfect synchrony.

”Sunny! You're awake! Thank Primus. Oh Primus, thank you, thank you _thank you!_” Sideswipe all but sobbed, optics blazing, arcs of charge flaring from them. Sunstreaker gave the hand holding his a brief squeeze, giving a rather feeble inquiry with his field. Sideswipe snapped back to attention, clearly giving frantic coms to whom, Sunstreaker was not sure. Most likely Ratchet.

”You weren't _responding_ Sunny! Not even in bond! I though, _I though-_!” the red twins words were rather strangled, his engine giving a high whine in distress. He conveyed his anguish at the though of loosing his other half by their spark-forged link, and Sunstreaker tried to shy away from the emotion. Sideswipe _keened_, trying to jerk his hand away, but Sunstreaker pulled it back gently. Sunstreaker shook his head, it didn't feel like he was all there yet, it felt like his systems were not working correctly.

”...Too....much” His vocalizer spat static at first, a slight wheeze in the tone, yet the sentiment came through, and Sideswipe settled down. Sideswpie used his thumb to lightly stroke Sunstreakers hand, content for now.

”Ratchet will be here soon.” The red lambo said, looking at the wall opposite to Sunstreakers berth. He seemed to think for a bit before continuing: ”It was... terrifying, seeing you so still. It was like you weren't _there_ anymore.” Now he turned to look at the mech lying on the berth, determination shining in those blue optics, framed by an uncharacteristically serious face.

”I don't want that to ever happen again. I am not loosing you, Sunny.” A fierce look pierced to Sunstreakers core, and he was so flooded with affection towards his twin. Pedesteps were echoing from the hallways, and Sunstreaker gave a last squeeze with his hand.

”Don't.... call me. Sunny.” He forced out, vocalizer sputtering. He was met with a brilliant smile.

”Of course, my Sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was
> 
> Catatonia


	17. Day 17: Swerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swerve puts his foot into his mouth again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: MTMTE  
Characters: Swerve, Tailgate  
Warnings: Unreliable narrator, panicking

Frame shaking from the distressed rumbling of his motor and heaving ventilations, Swerve lamented the events that led him to this. His hands were clutching his stupid big fat mouth, muffling his panicked babbling. The minibot tried to curl more into himself, pushing his head to his bent knees, trying to hide the flaring of his visor.

How deceptively it had all started. He had been bartending, as usual, joking around with his customers, teasing Tailgate, mixing drinks. He had gotten a few looks from his patrons, but that wasn't really unusual to him. Some people weren't clearly listening, only wanting to get drunk. Few however took a second look, muttering something, only to shake their heads, and continue on heir way.

The night had been going rather well, until Tailgate called him over. The fellow minibot had a worried cast to his field, and that huge blue visor of his was showing the early signs of tearing up. The bartender has instantly concerned, they were friends, and the Minibot Squad looked after each other.

”So Tailgate, what's up? Cyclonus didn't acknowledge your existence again?” Swerve teased, polishing a glass, just so his hands had something to do, and to hide his anxiety. Tailgate teetered for a bit, clearly considering if he should say something, and the blue-and-white mini leaned forwards, hands on the counter.

”Swerve... Are you alright?” The janitorial bot asked, compassion shining from him. Swerve laughed, and smiled even wider.

”I'm good! I mean, look around, the place is packed. I'm in my element here.” He laughed, gesturing to his bar, and to the customers. ”So how about you Tailgate, seems like you have something on your mind?” Swerve asked, and Tailgate frowned, clearly pouting. For a mech with visor and mask Tailgate sure was expressive, and Swerve told him so, hoping that would inspire Tailgate to react, and tell him something. But the usually perky and bubbly mini was silent, just staring at Swerve, and the bartender was starting to feel uncomfortable.

”Tailgate please, we're friends right? You can tell me anything. There's clearly something going on with you.” Swerve implored, placing one hand on top of Tailgate's. The other mech glanced at their hands, and then stared right into Swerves visor.

”Swerve, I think something is wrong with _you_.” Tailgate told him softly, in a rather slow pace. Like he was talking to a frightened sparkling. Swerve frowned, taking a step back, no longer touching Tailgate.

”What do you mean? I feel fine! There is nothing wrong with me, right?” Swerve said, as he scanned his frame, looking for some wounds or faults he could have missed. He even started a self-diagnostic, to make sure there was nothing wrong internally.

”Would you come with me to the med-bay, to see Ratchet? Please Swerve?” The blue-and-white mini beseeched, not listening to what Swerve was saying, and the red-and-white mini bristled. His plating flared and canted a bit to show his irritation, and his engine growled quietly in warning.

”Tailgate! I am fine, there is nothing wrong with me!” Swerve loudly insisted, causing a few bots to turn to pay attention to the drama going on between the two minis. Swerve winced a bit, great, the crew wold gossip about this for a long while. Tailgate was staring at him in incomprehension, searching something with his gaze, and it caused Swerve to rev sharply. He could hear a couple of bots in the audience start to whisper something, and the ambient talk quieted some, more people paying attention to him and Tailgate.

”For _Solomus'_ sake, what do I have to tell you to convince you Tailgate? I was perfectly fine and happy! Is this because all the teasing about Cyclonus? If so, I'm sorry, but this isn't very funny.” Swerve frowned, his mood rather down. After he had said his piece, he noticed something. The whole room had hushed, and more optics were on them. Swerve flushed, he had yelled at Tailgate, great, now Cyclonus or somebody would take offence to that, and Swerve would not like the dressing down he would get.

Tailgate was clearly panicking, and Swerve felt slightly bad, but sometimes one had to be firm with the bubbly mini. A ping marked that the diagnostic had run its course, and Swerve started reading it, already calmed down a bit, preparing to assure Tailgate there was not really anything wrong with him, friendly smile starting to form, when he froze.

His HUD was showing him error messages, logs of his last conversation highlighted, showing something completely different than what he had said. It was almost gibberish, recognisable words in sentences that made no sense, jumping around from topic to other, with absurd grammar. Stunned, he scrolled around, this was precise transcript of his speech, written exactly as he had said them. But he hadn't said that, had he.

”Tailgate, what, what's going on?” He questioned, now slightly afraid. And because he was paying attention, he could feel his mouth was making completely different sounds than what he was trying to say. It was happening, and he could not control himself. Panic surged inside him, and Swerve had to get out. Out of there, away from the whispers, the judging stares of others, and he felt like he had lost his mind.

He booked it out of there, surprise giving him the advantage to flee without anyone stopping him, and he transformed for faster getaway. Swerve his in his own room, sitting in the corner, trying to calm himself down with no success. He ignored all the coms and notifications he were getting, eventually shutting the whole system down, fixated on the nonsense on his HUD. He went to his memory storage, and replayed the scene from there. It had been going on for a while, slowly worsening. The looks, and double-takes had been because of his words, people doubting they had heard correctly, as Swerve butchered his words.

Perhaps it would be best to go see a doctor, since there was something wrong, but Swerve was mortified, and afraid. Surely the news had already spread, and everyone would think, no, _know_ that Swerve was completely nuts by this point. What could he even do, if he could not even speak so that others could understand him? At least he would be safe in his room, alone, with no roommates, and almost no-one even knew where his room was! His breathing hitched, and Swerve moved his hands to hug his knees. Shaking, he stared despondently at his HUD, showing the mess of his words, as he tried to comfort himself, to tell himself everything would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today
> 
> Word Salad.


	18. Day 18: Wheeljack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack has a bad start to his day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Wheeljack, Sunstreaker  
Warnings: Body dysmorphia, Thoughts of self-harm

He had woken up, slightly groggy from a bad recharge cycle. A sense of unease permeated him, foreboding, since he had no idea why he felt like that. Sure, they had had a rather hectic week, but that had been a week ago. He had been busy, mostly assisting in the med bay, until he was needed at the field, and then it had been back to trying to fix all the hurts the Decepticons had managed.

  
  


Maybe a wash would make him feel better? It wouldn't hurt anyways, even though he was not in a dire need of a visit to wash-racks. Getting up from his berth, he walked to his private wash-racks, perks of being an officer. Trying to ignore the bad feeling he had about something, he hummed an Earth-tune, turning on the solvent and closing his optics. The solvent was warm and comfortably so, and he could feel himself unwind a bit. He had some free time, so he could just tinker about in his lab, until his hands were needed elsewhere.

  
  


Finished, he turned the solvent off, dryers activating and blowing him clean. It was faster than trying to pat himself dry, though some Autobots seemed to prefer that to blow-drying. Stepping out of the cubicle, he glanced at the mirror, and stopped. He walked closer to the reflection, and looked himself over, disbelieving what he saw. That could not be how he looked, right? He was sure that yesterday he looked just fine, but maybe he had not just noticed because he had been sorta tired? Ugh, did his helm indicators really flare that bright, no wonder people didn't like talking to him, he pretty much blinded them, or at least hurt their optics. He started examining his frame, frowning. Blocky everywhere, rough surface of the extremely dense plating, and kooky parts littered him, resulting in almost hideous whole.

  
  


He would need something, perhaps a sander, to round the edges, make him a bit smoother, looking more friendly and approachable. The helm fins just made his head look stupid, and grossly wide, he had some skills dismantling stuff, perhaps he could get rid of them? He brought his hands in front of them, considering his image, optics focusing on his reflection. No, getting them fully off just threw his looks of even more, he would need to just trim them smaller, less offensive to the eyes. Could he use a laser cutter? He did own few of those, but he couldn't use painkillers or put himself into stasis, he needed to be fully aware to actually get it done.

  
  


Ratchet would be better at doing that safely and painlessly, but the thought of stepping out made his spark constrict. No, it wasn't an option. He kept checking his frame by touch, optics stuck to the mirror, and a noise registering on his audios. After some time, he recognised it was him. He was keening, engine whining and plating trembling, almost starting to rattle violently. He had a system for this, right? Some sort of panic button - like thing in his HUD? And there it was, and he activated it, hoping it would help, since he currently had no idea what it even did. And what it did, seemed to be nothing. Despair filled him, starting to rummage his subspace frantically, placing errant tools on the counter haphazardly. Noticing he had been grasping air for a while, he snapped towards the tools, hearing some of them hit the ground. He didn't care, searching for something, and brightening when he finally found his laser cutter. It was heftier than the ones of med bay, since this was not exactly meant for mechs or surgery, and in engineering you sometimes needed to do small-scale work, with denser and harder materials.

  
  


He turned the cutter on, and after staring at it for a bit, he tested the edge. It was sharp, and powerful enough to work in his blast-proof plating. This could actually work. Turning his head from side to side, he noted what he would need to reduce in order to look more palatable.

  
  


Banging jolted him, taking his attention of from the mirror, as he looked towards his door. It was unusual, as the crew avoided him unless they needed something. Feeling tired, he went to open the door. Better to face this now, and then he could just keep his focus on things that really mattered.

  
  


”Yes? How may I...” He trailed off, leaning against the door-frame, and stared dumbly at Sunstreaker. That was not at all amongst the things he was anticipating. The yellow frontliner just scanned him slowly, making him squirm, and just strode in. ”H-Hey!” He yelped, letting the door close on its own, and ran to catch the uninvited guest.

  
  


”Sit.” The frontliner demanded, and confused, he complied. Sunstreaker had his piercing gaze on him, clicked his vocalizer, and took something out from his subspace.

  
  


”Sunstreaker, _what_ are you _doing_?” He asked, his indicators pulsing with nervous energy. Sunstreaker just looked at him, like it should be obvious, and pushed two tins of polish in front of him.

  
  


”Which one?” One of the tins was high-gloss polish, absolutely gorgeous and shiny when applied, but a glitch to maintain, the other was semi-matte one, and while it was easier to keep looking good, it didn't suit everyone. So he just stared at them, feeling helpless, since neither of them would suit him, and would only highlight the faults in his frame. ”Never mind. I'll choose.” Sunstreaker grunted, and subspaced the glossy one. The frontliner took his frame in one more time, and brought up a buffing pad. ”Good, you already washed.” Sunstreaker said, and started applying buffing compound to his frame. He yelped, it felt a bit cold, but Sunstreaker just growled in warning. ”Stay _still._” The yellow mech ordered, and just continued buffing.

  
  


So he would be getting extempore make-over from Sunstreaker today. The vibrations from the buffer was rather hypnotic, and he felt rather drowsy, meekly complying when asked to move something or other. After couple passes and wiping off the excess compound, Sunstreaker took the polish he had picked before, and started to apply it. Hmm, if it was not glossy, could it even be considered polish? He wondered, and asked the question aloud.

  
  


”You could call it finish, if it bothers you.” Was the so helpful answer he got. It had been a while he had gotten pampered like this, since usually he didn't want to go through the trouble, only to make it worthless in the end just by working in his lab. Sunstreaker was smearing something else to his plating now, and he was not even sure when he had finished the polishing business. He was even getting a wax?

  
  


”Feeling better?” Sunstreaker asked, as he packed his equipment away, and Wheeljack stirred from the haze he had been in. He was not as tense as before, but he still felt a bit uneasy. He didn't want to disappoint Sunstreaker though, since the other had seen such effort to pretty him up. You could not hide the abnormalities with little polish, even Wheeljack knew that. So he nodded, hoping Sunstreaker would just leave.

  
  


”Now, come on. We're going to the mess. You need a cube.” Sunstreaker commanded, taking a hold of Wheeljack's arm, and pulled him up.

  
  


”_Hey wait now!_” Wheeljack protested, stumbling to get his pedes underneath him, and Sunstreaker looked him straight to his eyes.

  
  


”If anyone looks, its the polish. Not you.” Sunstreaker told, words finally clicking something in Wheeljack's processor. Yes, his panic-button. It called Sunstreaker, one of the only mech who knew the troubles he had with his frame, or at least the image of it, and got him out of his room and to eat something. It didn't always fully work, but it kept him going. And sometimes it did help, even if only a little. Wheeljack took a shaky vent, and squared himself up.

  
  


”Yes, let's go.” He nodded, gathering his courage. Sunstreaker just looked at him searchingly, and nodding, turned towards the door. Wheeljack would get through this, he didn't need to be alone in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its time for
> 
> Body Dysmorhia!


	19. Day 19: Wildrider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cause I'm crazy... hot and ready but you'll like it!  
I wanna race for you shall I go now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: G1  
Characters: Perceptor, Wildrider, pre-slash?  
Warnings: Purposefully bad grammar, dangerous driving, property damage

Lights lit the streets, making bright lines in the darkness. Loud music was joined by maniacal laughter, as rubber burned on asphalt. While drifting, the G-forces climbed measurably higher, tires squealing, frame creaking. Swerving wildly, hopping onto sidewalks from time to time, the drive was exciting. The speed picked up even more as the gas was stepped on, making the sports car almost a flash on the road. The sense of danger was present, as sometimes the car skidded only on two tires, threatening to fall over.

The dark car was jostled quite a few times, as it slid too far on corners, banging onto mailboxes, fire hydrants, streetlights and occasionally buildings. It did nothing to stop the joyride, on the contrary, it made the laughter even louder, whoops of glee echoing in the night. The lateral forces were almost dizzying to someone who was not used to something like that. Street racing was thrilling, even if there was only one participant. High-performance engine roaring, as the car sped up.

The bass reverberated through the interior of the car, permeating everything inside. The wind roared loud enough to be heard thru the noise, and a high whine joined the cacophony of sounds. The car spun, seemingly out of control, when the driver-side door flew open. The seatbelt clicked off, retracting, and the force of the spin threw out a red microscope from the drivers seat. Perceptor transformed mid-air, trying to land on his feet, but staggered backwards when something hit his legs. With a yelp, he fell over, bracing for impact.

It was rather softer than expected, and Perceptor onlined his optics, not sure when exactly he had offlined them. Below him was a pile of mattresses, clearly out of place on the sidewalk, and placed there intentionally. He whipped his gaze to his companion, seeing how the gray-ish car had started making a large ring just by drifting, smoke rising behind him. The acrid smell of burnt rubber steeped into his olfactory sensors. It was not a pleasant odor.

Right before his optics, the car let himself out of the circular spin, drifting hard into a building. A resounding crash occurred, frame sporting a rather bad looking indent as the building caved in slightly.Before he even managed to get up and check on the other, the mech transformed, and crazed violet optics found his. Smile wide on his red face, Wildrider strode towards Perceptor, tires still smoking slightly, engine thrumming hard, ventilation fans blowing full force.

”I recon you liked it! Too little crashes for my taste, but I made do!” Came from the other, full of cockiness. Perceptor pondered a bit, yes, this had been different, but not entirely unpleasant. Not even his rather spontaneous ejection soured the experience. The Autobot got up, stared at the Decepticon, and tilted his head.

”Yes, it was a rather intriguing, I got some interesting data about the lateral forces in play during the ride.” Perceptor conceded, and seeing the bit lot look on other face, continued more strictly. ”However, I do not appreciate the kidnapping of my person for amusement, no matter how mutual it might be.” The lost look just intensified, and Perceptor had no idea what was so hard to understand about that. Kidnapping was bad, even a Decepticon should know that. Granted, they reveled in the illegal side of things, but the Stunticon seemed to be genuinely unaware of it.

”How else I'm s'posed to do it?” Wildrider said a bit petulantly, and Perceptor perked up. He liked teaching things, even if his potential student was a Decepticon, and the subject morality instead of science.

”Well, usually you ask the other if they would like to spend time with you and arrange a time when this would happen. Not just suddenly snatch them from the battlefield and lock them up. What if I had not liked this? What would you have done then?” Perceptor asked, curious what his fate would have been. Wildrider looked at him, optics wide, hands rising up, as if to ward Perceptor away.

”Uh, I woulda thinked something.” The Stunticon muttered. And then perked up. ”Your one of those sciency types, right? I know some cool stuff that seems sciency, I could show ya!” The jump from the matter disoriented the microscope a bit, so he nodded, a bit stunned. ”One week from now, these coordinates.” Wildrider said, shark-like grin on his lips, as he pinged the information on common short-range frequency. Perceptor accepted it out of habit, and Wildrider took that as confirmation.

”Great. It's a date then. See ya!” Wildrider whooped, transforming and booking it from there, ramming stuff on his way, the wailing of car-alarms penetrating the night. Perceptor stared at the receding tail lights and after they disappeared, waking from the slight daze. He looked around, and realised he had no idea where he was. His com unit was full of unanswered calls, most of them from the high command, some from his friends, messages full of alarm and worry for his safety. The timestamps on them told Perceptor he had been out riding with Wildrider longer than he had thought. A new message pinged into his unit, from the same frequency as the co-ordinates from Wildrider. The message was just some pictographs, and Perceptor frowned. He would need to show them to someone better with encryption, since he had no idea what they meant.

Pinging his GPS, he flushed, mortified. He was a state from the base, it would be too long walk for him to safely accomplish on his current fuel levels, and he could not exactly drive to the base could he. Embarrassed, he activated his com-unit, and called the base, waiting for the call to connect. In the meantime, he wondered whatever could the Stunticon who was often called a lunatic even know about science? Most likely nothing that would catch the microscopes attention, but who knew. Blinking, Perceptor realised he was actually contemplating going to the offered date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lunatic!!!


	20. Day 20: Knock Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunger strikes Knock Out, he has a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verse: Prime, Post-War  
Characters: Knock Out  
Warnings: Cannibalism, Autocannibalism, Headcannon stuff

Knock Out rummaged around subspace, sometimes taking stuff out, considering them for a moment, and then threw them away. Drat, he really was out, wasn't he? He let out an excited gasp, only to groan in disappointment. Sure, the war was over and they were scavenging for supplies to help the rebuilding effort, but had he truly went through his cache of automobile parts in such a short time? He had had to use them to fix up others, after someone had happened to see him pull out some of the stuff from his subspace. Ugh, his luck was just rotten.

And he was getting rather desperate. Knock Out had found himself looking the frames of other in an entirely different way than usual, and it was a blessing that they didn't seem to interpret it correctly. There was energon for all, but Knock Out required something other. Something more... solid. The quirks of assigned functions! Which no longer were relevant at all, seeing as he was finally the absolutely beauty of a fast automobile.

Hmm. He did have his own frame, and even though it would not actually accomplish anything, he could trick his systems for a while, perhaps for long enough to get permission for a visit to Earth. He would be getting so many questions, and he already mourned his stunning paintjob and frame. But he was star~ving! So Knock Out gave a silent apology to his own frame, and unfurled his mouth.

The plating yielded easily to his denta, screeching slightly from metal meeting metal and crumbling, disappearing into his maw. Each bite was almost euphoric, the satisfying crunch of metal and the sublime feeling of eating, of filling himself up again. The pain was negligible in the face of his bliss, as he savoured everything as long as he could. He could feel the blades all along his mouth and throat grind the metal and other parts further down, for easier consumption and integration to his tanks. The dribble of energon didn't even matter, he could fix that later with no problems, his fuel levels high enough he need not worry.

He had to stop himself too soon for his taste, yet he could not endanger his position especially in such tumultuous times. One mech finding about this, and he would be cast away at least. If he was lucky. But of course Bulkhead was afraid of scraplets, and would make the inevitable connection, no matter how false it may be. Paying negligible attention as he patched himself up, Knock Out pondered.

A shame, that the Autobots were so narrow-minded, and clung to their beliefs or moral superiority. At least with Decepticons, he hadn't have to worry about his base necessaries being viewed with revulsion, and labeled as abhorrent. Since the Decepticons had been mostly made of the lower caste mechs, workers and gutter-mech, they knew that sometimes you just got dealt a _shitty_ hand, as those organics would say. Knock Out leisurely extended his hand, scrutinizing his handiwork, cycling his optics on the uneven marks. Ugh, it wasn't pretty, and not the least symmetrical anymore. He would be requiring something more substantial, soon.

What a wonderful discovery he had on Earth, though! Usually he had to sustain from the recovered parts of vehicons, with occasional treat of irreparable parts and limbs. But on that organic planet, those silly meat-bags had an exquisite taste of vehicles, and the metal they were made of! So soft in comparison, and unlike most substitutes he had tried, this one worked. Sure, he had to consume much more, but it was not even a setback, considering how much easier it was to come to.

Silently, Knock Out lamented his desperate hunger, and his spark ached for his immaculate paintjob. Staring at the careful welding he had done, he deliberated if he had made the correct choice after all. Tapping his forearm with the sharp tips of his hand, he turned to gaze his habsuite. It was a bit bare, but he had energon. He had company, no matter the quality of it. He had his life. The racecar let out an extended vent of air, and banished those thoughts from his processor. He was an Autobot now, with all the goody goody two-shoes shtick. Besides, he still had some time before he hit a critical point. No point in worrying right now.

Right now the only thing he required was a long drive, preferably a race. Perhaps either one of the Autobot speedsters would take a challenge? Well, he only had to try, and afterwards, beat them ruthlessly. He wasn't proud of his frame for just its looks, was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Autocannibalism!!!
> 
> This was the prompt that actually inspired me to try to write them all, since a friend showed it to me, and I was like I could think of a fluffy or crack-y or otherwise non-horror way I could write them, but wasn't sure for this one. Then thought, autocannibalism on transformers, what about eating automobiles?

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt for today was;
> 
> Manic Smile!
> 
> Congrats if you got it right!
> 
> Edit: Cleaned up tags, notes, summaries  
No touchy the chapters themselves tho


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